


"Jack's my boyfriend!"

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Year 4 (Check Please!)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 00:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19878436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: Based onCoach II.Kind of angsty, kind of a fix-it.





	"Jack's my boyfriend!"

**Author's Note:**

> _Based on[Coach II](https://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/4-11-01). _
> 
> _Kind of angsty, kind of a fix-it._

Ugh. This was awful.

Coach was here somewhere, watching him, waiting for him to fail, waiting for him to show he was the sort of weakling Coach always thought he was.

The kind of weakling he was, who couldn’t even bring himself to say anything when Coach called Jack his “friend” when he knew very well they were boyfriends.

Bitty had been furious, and wanted so much to say so, but the words stuck in his throat. Coach was his guest. Coach came all this way to see him. Coach was trying. Shouldn’t that be good enough.

There hadn’t been time for a talk, or even an argument (Who was he kidding? When had a talk with Coach ever taken more than three minutes? No. When had a talk with Coach ever been more than Coach saying what he wanted, in as few words as possible, and Bitty saying, “yessir”?) so Bitty had gone right into his pregame routine.

Everything felt wrong, though, and Bitty felt it as soon as he stepped on the ice for the opening puck drop: the urge to hang back, avoid contact at all costs, because he knew that if someone hit him he’d — well, he knew he wouldn’t really die, but it would be nice if he could convince the dark corners of his brain of that, again.

He thought he got through the first shift okay, without it being too obvious that he was hanging back, passing the puck off as soon as he got it. Whiskey was looking at him a little funny, though.

Normally he loved to lead the Wellies onto the ice, loved being out there and making things happen.

Maybe it wasn’t to late to tell Hall he was sick and had to leave the game. His stomach was upset for real.

No, Hall would just tell him to vomit on the ice instead of the bench.

“Bittle! Whiskey! O’Meara!”

Fuck. Maybe he’d get though this shift too.

Whiskey passed him the puck, expecting him to race up the side, but when Bitty saw the huge D-man head right for him, he froze. He forgot how to deke around him, or pass it past him, or even just skate close to the boards so hit body would squashed but he would go flying head first into the barrier.

He froze, and collapsed, and dimly heard people asking if he was okay. It had been years since he’d done this. He felt Hall and Murray’s eyes on him, and somewhere out there Coach’s, and he decided he wasn’t going to let this happen again.

He pushed to his knees and then his feet, faced the Wellie stands (Why didn’t he know where Coach was?), and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Jack’s my boyfriend!”

Then he skated to the bench, where Murray was giving him an assessing sort of look.

“You all right, son?”

“Yes, Coach,” Bitty said, already feeling lighter. “I’ll be fine. I’m good to go.”


End file.
